Green Eyed Monsters
by QueenRiley
Summary: When dealing with one big green rage monster, Clint has to deal with his own little green eyed monster.


Clint:

Clint was not the jealous type. Not usually. Sure, he'd have pangs of that green-eyed monster every once in a while. Missions that got a little too friendly for comfort, new recruits that went all starry eyed at the infamous Black Widow, guys on the street that would stop and openly gawk when they were out. It would pop up even when it was unwarranted, like that first mission with Tony. But they were just little pangs, twinges in his heart for a beat before he could clamp it down and shake it off. After all, no matter how close anybody else tried to get, nobody would ever know Natasha the way he did. She didn't usually let people in, but she chose him, and that was enough.

So it came out of left field when his little green eyed monster wasn't so little all of a sudden. Despite all his usual tactics, all the best efforts of rationalizing it away, there was nothing he could do to stop it. And it was all thanks to an entirely different green monster. A big one. One made entirely of rage.

Clint knew there was one thing, and only one thing, in the world Natasha Romanova was afraid of. The Hulk. He was the one force she couldn't take out with a bullet, the one thing in the world that could take her down and know that none of her tricks, none of her particular talents, games, or methods would deter his single minded goal. He was the only thing she couldn't control. And it terrified her. Clint knew it instinctively. He knew it without her ever having to say a word.

So he couldn't understand why she was suddenly buddy-buddy with Bruce Banner. It's not that he didn't like the guy. Bruce was nice enough. He was honest and straightforward, if not a little overly self-deprecating and prone to an excess of empathy. He had a wicked little sense of humour, when he'd actually let it out. He wasn't hard on the eyes either.

Clint knew why Natasha would be attracted to him, pulled into his orbit whether she was conscious of it or not. But he didn't understand how she could be so terrified of the Hulk and so relaxed around Bruce. They were two sides of the same coin.

And that little tiny part of him that he had locked away so very long ago, the tiny child that resisted growing up, was stomping his little foot and pouting that he belonged to Natasha, not some stupid super brainiac scientist guy.

* * *

Natasha:

She was never one to run away from her fear, nor was the type to mince words, so she knew what she had to do. As soon as she'd agreed to move into Stark Tower, now Avengers Tower, she had to sit down with Bruce Banner and they had to talk. She didn't waste any time.

She'd expected to gain some understanding. To learn something about how to live with this man. She never expected to actually like him. Never thought she'd feel an almost immediate pull, an attraction to him she couldn't quite define. She never expected he'd become her friend.

Although, wasn't that how it always seemed to work with her? Nobody mattered, until suddenly somebody did. Nobody could get close until all of a sudden he was recruiting her instead of putting an arrow through her back. She couldn't care about anybody else until all of a sudden she was bargaining the whole world for his life. She hadn't seen Clint coming any more than she'd seen Bruce. But there they were. And they were hers.

Bruce taught her how to relax around others. How to prank Tony. How to tease Steve without causing undue hurt. How to deal with Thor's constant need to tough… well… everything. But mostly he taught her how to find the places inside of her where her dreams still lived. She hadn't know they were still there, resting, sleeping, waiting for her. But they were. And Bruce found them, woke them up, and got them stirring.

Bruce took her dancing. He took her to clubs where they lost themselves in throngs of people looking more for sex than dancing. He took her to dance studios where they tried a little bit of salsa, a little bit of country line dancing, a little bit of everything. He promised to take her to the ballet one day, once he'd earned the money, because he refused to use Tony's and S.H.I.E.L.D. paid their agents little, and their consultants even less. But she loved, above all else, when he took her ballroom dancing.

When she was with Clint, their hands were stained with blood. He knew her so intimately, her past, her present, probably even her future. He knew her in a way she wouldn't let anybody else know, right down to her very soul. But Bruce didn't know any of that. Bruce couldn't see the red in her ledger. Bruce couldn't see the stains on her soul. He rarely saw the trauma in her eyes. With Clint she was everybody she had ever been and everybody she ever would be. With Bruce she was just Natasha. She didn't know how much she needed that. Until he'd opened that door, took her dancing, and let her fly.

* * *

Clint:

He seethed with jealousy. It tainted his every interaction with Bruce. He wanted to hate the man, to despise him and let the hate fuel his anger. To have a reason to feel this way. But he just couldn't. Bruce was so damned nice. Bruce tried to include him. Bruce smiled at him in a way that made his stomach clench at the same time his green eyed monster gnashed his teeth.

It wasn't so bad when they were just talking politely over lunch. It didn't bother him that much when they commandeered the living room to watch old horror movies.

But he couldn't help the twinge when he would find her in Bruce's lab, listening raptly as Bruce explained some particle or other and what it meant for the world of physics. And when they started sharing the comics at breakfast, and laughing together, he couldn't help the scowl that was slowly becoming his resting face.

When Bruce made her smile, a true genuine no holding back smile, then his own version of the Hulk emerged and he had to leave the room before it consumed him. It tore him up inside. Making her smile was his job. He was the only one that could do it. He was supposed to be the one she relied on. He was supposed to be the one that could turn her mood, brighten her day, chase away the demons.

He couldn't stand the thought of sharing that role in her life.

So he couldn't help it, not really, when his jealousy made him do stupid things. He scowled at Bruce all the time. Any attempt at conversation was met with either stony silence or deadpanned insults thinly veiled as snark. Bruce saw right through them all. He eventually gave up even trying. Clint was surprised to find that bothered him more than he thought it would.

It was a Tuesday when Clint knew Natasha had dropped him altogether. He went looking for her, something he had to do more often than not now, and couldn't find her. He needed to know where to rendezvous for karaoke, but she was nowhere to be found. He finally had to resort to asking. Steve was the first person he came across.

"Have you seen Nat?" he asked. He hated that. He'd never had to ask before. He always just knew. Steve brushed some crumbs from his shirt.

"She went out with Bruce. Something about a movie or dancing or maybe a movie about dancing? I don't know. They were vague." Clint just blinked at him.

"But it's Tuesday," he said. They had standing plans for Tuesday.

"Sorry, buddy. They were laughing too much for me to really understand them. You don't think they… fondue?" Clint barely heard him. He turned and walked away, his feet moving him of their own accord. He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing. His heart was crumbling, breaking into a million tiny pieces. She had cancelled on him and hadn't even bothered to tell him. It was as if she had taken his tags off, erased her name from his heart, and set him free.

* * *

Natasha:

"You need to fix what you broke, Natasha," Tony called out to her. She stopped, high heels swinging at her side still, and slowly turned around. There was a murderous glint to her eyes. Nobody told her what to do, particularly not Tony Stark. He didn't back down, didn't even take a slight step back. He was getting too used to her. She would have to do something about that.

"Excuse me?" she asked quietly, breathy. He didn't even flinch.

"You broke him. Fix it." She was really confused now. She didn't break anybody, not recently, not that she wasn't supposed to anyway. She just shook her head and Tony sighed, uncrossing his arms and walking over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, fiddled absently with the spaghetti straps to her ballroom dress, and she tensed. She managed to stop herself from striking before her hand even moved. It was Tony. Bruce would kill her if she hurt him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Clint. He's moping. In high, scary places. Please fix it before I have to break his stupid guitar over his head." She looked him hard in the eyes and still couldn't figure out what was going on. Usually she wasn't this slow, particularly when it came to Clint. She'd seen him just an few hours ago at dinner and he'd been just fine. Maybe a little quieter than usual, and he'd taken to playing Tony's game of 'provoke The Other Guy', and that was a really bad idea, but it wasn't her fault. Clint was a grown man. He could handle himself. But then again, if Tony said something was wrong, something must be really wrong. Tony was usually the least perceptive of the group, especially in regards to Clint.

"What's he doing?" she finally asked. Tony let her go and smiled. She hated that grin. She still had trouble resisting smacking the smirk right off his face. She had no clue how Pepper dealt with him.

"He climbs up high and just… sits there. Staring. I'd think it was cool if it wasn't so disturbing, actually. And that wasn't enough, apparently, because now he has a guitar. And he sings, Natasha. He's singing sad mopey songs about love and romance." She nearly snorted.

"Clint doesn't sing about love and romance. And he doesn't mope." She hadn't expected there to be evidence, though. Tony pulled out his phone and loaded a video JARVIS had taken earlier. Clint was perched, almost birdlike, on the rafters in the training room. He was strumming his old, battered guitar and singing about something that gave him direction and safety and everything he needed. Something he called red. She quirked an eyebrow at Tony.

"Red. You," he said. She nearly snorted again.

"Red. His guitar." She pointed to the video. His old guitar was a deep blood red, the only relic of a family that imploded long before anybody else noticed. Tony frowned, clearly not believing her.

"It's all you, darling. You've switched funtimes and he just can't handle it. Now please, please, fix your boyfriend before he resorts to country. I can't take country, Natasha," Tony begged.

"He's not my boyfriend," she started to argue, but Tony's glare made her realize it was pointless. He was, for all intents and purposes, hers and everybody knew it no matter how much they'd tried to hide it. Tony allowed her the grace of turning around and stalking away without another word. She had to find Clint.

She found him on her first try. He was in the uppermost as yet unfinished floors of the tower. The wind made the plastic covering the windows flap violently, but all that reached her was a gentle swirling of cool air. He was stretched out on top of a beam, one leg dangling over the side, swaying with the breeze. He was wearing his sunglasses; a bad sign about his mental state that he hadn't pulled them off despite the dark of the room. She could have called out to him, but he knew she was there. She sat down on a bit of thick tarp and waited patiently. He would come down in his own time.

She didn't have to wait long. He dropped down next to her in a puff of construction dust and rested his arms on his knees. She still didn't speak. She knew him better than she knew anybody else in the world, sometimes even better than she knew herself. If she was patient, he would say far more on his own than if she tried to pry it out of him.

"You mad?" he asked.

"Of course not. Bruce is a little upset, but I think he's more sad than angry. He really likes you. Though next time you shoot an arrow at the Other Guy, I can't promise he won't knock you to the ground." Clint chuckled a little at that and her patience paid off.

"That's kind of the problem. I think I want him to. I get mad when he's around."

"The Other Guy or Bruce?" she asked. Clint blinked at her and she knew it was a dumb question. Of course he meant Bruce. "You turn into your own green monster," she stated. He picked up a piece of plaster and began methodically shredding it, anything to avoid looking at her.

"I used to be yours," he mumbled.

"You still are, dumbass," she reassured. She reached over and gently stilled his hands. He dropped the plaster and laced his fingers through hers.

"I have to share now. He's yours too." Clint pouted. She had never actually seen him pout. It was strangely attractive on him.

"In a different way." She slid around and rested her knees on the toes of his boots, pulling his knees together so she could rest her chin on them. She reached up and pulled off his sunglasses and he blinked as the light hit his eyes. "Look. You're Clint. You saved my life and then you kept me alive. You are still the only person I have ever let get to me. The only person who knows me, completely, and still accepted me for who I am. You are the only person who can hurt me."

"Nat, the other guy could," he started. She shushed him with a mere downturn of her eyebrow. She loved that she had that power over him.

"I don't mean physically." She watched as he let that sink in. She liked the blush that crept up his cheeks when he realized what she was saying, what she could never really say out loud.

"So Bruce…"

"Is a very good friend. We're a team, right? We have to trust each other. I can't trust the monster, so I better be damn sure I can trust the man." He nodded. Silence fell again as she watched him contemplate this new layer to the puzzle that was them.

"Is he mad at me?" Clint asked hesitantly. She smiled.

"He wants to be your friend and he doesn't understand why you're so jealous. He doesn't get… us. We're… unique. He'll learn. If you can trust him."

"If you do, I do," he replied immediately. He didn't even have to think about it. She liked that she had that power over him, as well.

"Good. Better now?" she asked. He nodded and finally met her eyes with a smile. She smiled back, reached up, and smacked him hard on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" he cried. She fell back onto her knees and smiled the sweetest, most innocently evil smile she could manage.

"For being stupid and not talking to me in the first place. Now, are we going to go through this jealousy issue again?"

"No," he mumbled, rubbing the spot she'd hit. She leaned in and kissed him quickly, chastely, not giving him any time to process it.

"Good boy."


End file.
